Dr. Keefer Rallies Students to Join the Great Conversation

“One of the questions that peppers social gatherings of adults, is the get-to-know-you icebreaker, ‘So, what do you do?’ One could have a lot of fun with this question. ‘What do you do?’ ‘Well, I probably sleep more than anything else…I play a lot of X-Box.’”

Laughter rippled through Twichell Auditorium as Dr. Kyle Keefer, Associate Professor of Religion, paused during his speech at opening convocation.

“Of course, the question isn’t true to its denotative meaning. People are asking, “What’s your occupation? To some extent they’re asking about your identity—who you are.”

Dr. Keefer was honored with the 2013 Kathryne Amelia Brown Award for outstanding teacher. In keeping with Converse tradition, this year’s Brown Award recipient gave an inspirational talk to kick off the academic year.

“Dr. Keefer is epically amazing.”

During the course of his speech, the reasons that Kyle Keefer was honored with the Brown Award became clear to the entire campus community, including those who have not had the privilege of sitting in on his classes. His humor, breadth of knowledge, and tell-it-like-it-is wisdom have made him a student favorite for classes ranging from the Apocalypse to Women in the Bible, from Religion and Film to the New Testament. One student has called him “epically amazing.” In fact, the textbook he wrote, The New Testament as Literature: A Very Short Introduction is used in religion classrooms in both the US and the UK.

These excerpts give a taste of the speech that kept the Converse community on the edge of their seats that morning. As you read, imagine Dr. Keefer in his academic regalia at the podium, speaking to an auditorium full of students, faculty and staff:

Now of course, your parents are asking a question quite similar to “what do you do?” They want to know what your occupation will be. Now I don’t want to dismiss their economic concerns, they just….oh hell, yes I do. I want to completely dismiss them for today. Many of you are going to make beaucoups of money and within 5 years, you’ll be making more than me. That tells you a great deal about the economic value of your Converse degree. And a great deal about how much college professors get paid.

But, in all seriousness, isn’t Converse more than an investment bank into which your parents pour money so that you can draw out a greater return when you graduate? Are we just job training? A glorified trade school? If the over-riding aim of your degree program is to get a high-paying job, why not change the founder’s ideal to “to see the job market clearly, to decide on job offers wisely, and to just act?”

Dr. Keefer went on to reflect on his role as a teacher of religion and on the place of the study of religion in the larger project of a college education.

“If the aim of your degree is to get a high-paying job, why not change the founder’s ideal to ‘to see the job market clearly, to decide on job offers wisely, and to just act?’”

I now think of myself not so much as a professor of religion as a teacher of humanities. As a professor of the humanities, I’m almost more interested in the next part of Dexter Converse’s ideal, which we recite less often than the part about than to see clearly to decide wisely and to act justly. It reads thus: “that they may learn to love God and humanity, and be faithful to truth and duty, so that their influence may be characterized by purity and power.” My focus today is on the part about loving God and humanity. . . . The more we associate our learning with our fellow humans, the richer our educational experience becomes. Robert Proctor, in his book, Defining the Humanities, argues that the humanities is not a particular subject area but a method of study. He shows that Studia humanitatis developed in the Middle Ages as a mode of study that would lead to a shaping of the human soul.

Thus, if we take Proctor’s analysis to heart, no matter what subject you students study, it can be part of the humanities. As you pianists learn Chopin’s Military Polonaise, you of course are focused on fingering technique. But you are also linking yourselves to the troubled turbulent man who composed it. And to the Polish radio stations who played the piece in 1939 as an act of resistance to the Nazis. The sheet music is flat; the interaction of that piece with other listeners and players is deep.

Or as you biology students slog through Kreb’s cycle and learn all of those maddening ATPs, ADPs, and NADH’s, realize the wonder of how all of us aerobic respirators, from sardines to simiana, generate energy in the same way. Realize also how lucky you are to be the only creatures on earth that get to marvel at that wonder.

Even you number crunchers in accounting and finance can be part of the humanities. Remember that the digits on your Excel spreadsheets and statements of cash flows are blood and sweat turned into ink and pixels. Remember that the numbers you crunch are intricately tied to the aspirations and trials of your fellow humans as they work hard, get paid, and figure out how to use their capital to live fulfilling lives.

“Education is Participation in the Great Conversation of Humankind.”

As I come to my conclusion, I want to share a definition that I learned from a professor I had at the University of Houston. Paul Wagner, an education professor, used to include on all his syllabi this line: “Education is Participation in the Great Conversation of Humankind.’” I’ve not yet found a definition of education more succinct and helpful. It encapsulates much of what great theorists of education—Plato, Cicero, Plutarch, Dewey—tried to convey. It answers both questions I’ve posed today. We faculty know more than you students but we’re not interested in just pouring knowledge into you. We engage you in conversation. You, because of your age, are latecomers to the conversation but are honored and valued participants. Much of your success in education will depend on how well you converse—learning to listen well, to talk back, to choose your words carefully, to know when you have something to say, to know when to be silent.

My colleague, Dr. Kevin DeLapp, told me I should engage in some call and response in this talk. For those of you that don’t know, call-and-response is a style of preaching that arose from the Black church experience in the US. I’m not a preacher though this is sorta like a pulpit; you’re not a congregation, but Convocation has all the hallmarks of a religious ritual; and, as you may be able to tell, I’m not black. But let’s try this anyway—think of it as the white-boy, academic, intellectual call and response.

I’ll say,

‘So, what do you do?’

And you’ll respond,

‘I’m a participant in the great conversation of humankind.’

Then I’ll ask,

‘So what are you gonna do with that?’

And you’ll respond,

‘I’m gonna continue to be a participant in the great conversation of human kind.’

Let’s try.

Converse College community members, so what do you do?

‘I’m a participant in the great conversation of humankind.’

Converse College students, what are y’all gonna do with your Converse degree?

‘I’m gonna be a participant in the great conversation of humankind.’

ALL RIGHT! Me too!